


all i want (is you)

by carissima



Series: santa baby [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 17:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12893259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: “Tradition sucks,” Tyson says. He uncurls the paper and blinks twice before letting out an annoyed sigh. Of course he’s got Gabe. Of fucking course he has.





	all i want (is you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hybryd0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybryd0/gifts).



> it’s not exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it anyway!

“This is so dumb,” Tyson mutters as he shoves his hand into Nate’s old helmet and pulls out a small piece of paper. “Seriously, there’s got to be an app for this shit by now.”

“Nothing wrong with tradition,” Gabe says cheerfully. He’s staring at the ceiling like a big old nerd because he likes to make a big show out of not knowing who gets who for their annual Secret Santa exchange. Tyson can’t even be bothered to chirp him about it anymore.

“Tradition sucks,” Tyson says. He uncurls the paper and blinks twice before letting out an annoyed sigh. Of course he’s got Gabe. Of fucking course he has.

Gabe beams at him because he’s a fucking nightmare around Christmas, wearing his stupid sexy Santa hat around the locker room and humming Swedish Christmas songs that the rest of them don’t know because they’re Canadian (or American, he supposes) and they have normal shitty Christmas songs.

“Don’t tell anyone who you’ve picked,” Gabe reminds him like the giant Christmas nerd he is before he offers the upside-down helmet to Nate. “It’s secret.”

“It’s literally never stayed secret once,” Tyson mutters to himself and ignores the warning elbow Nate shoves into his side. “What? It hasn’t!”

Gabe’s half-glaring at him while still trying to maintain his Christmas spirit or whatever he’s channelling, and it’s hilarious.

Tyson doesn’t laugh though because he values his life, and there’s only so far he’s willing to push his captain when it comes to his favorite holiday.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Tyson says, rolling his eyes. “I promise.”

“Good,” Gabe says and he reaches out to squeeze Tyson’s shoulder absently. “I trust you, Tys.”

Tyson stays frozen until Gabe’s moved away across the locker room to shove that damn helmet under EJ’s nose.

“What the fuck,” Tyson whispers furiously to Nate, keeping his gaze firmly on Gabe’s stupidly handsome face and the way he beams at EJ. Fuck EJ, honestly. “I got Gabe, Nate. Gabe. What do I get him?”

He’s so busy staring at Gabe that he doesn’t see Nate’s hand move and therefore can’t get out of the way before Nate’s smacking him around the back of the head.

“Ow!” Tyson turns to glare at his _former_ best friend and rubs his hand over the stinging pain. “What the hell was that for?”

“It’s Secret Santa, you dumbass,” Nate hisses at him, which honestly makes Tyson’s eyes widen because in the three years they’ve been doing this stupid tradition, Nate has never once cared about the ‘secret’ part of this. “Gabe just said he trusted you to keep it a secret and you lasted what, five seconds?”

“Okay, first of all we both know Gabe didn’t mean that,” Tyson says because he’s nothing but honest about his own failings, one of which is his inability to keep a fucking _secret_. “And secondly, you didn’t answer the question.”

Nate gets to his feet and pulls his toque down until it’s almost covering his eyes. Tyson kind of itches to reach up and pull it right down over his face but he’s having an actual crisis here and he does actually need Nate’s help so he resists. It’s a goddamn struggle though.

“This is one you need to figure out yourself,” Nate says, and like, what the fuck? “I believe in you, buddy. You’ve got this.”

And he walks out of the locker room, leaving Tyson staring after him.

He very much does _not_ have this at all.

*

The team goes out for a meal a few days before Christmas and Tyson turns up with his badly-wrapped gift in hand. Gabe, of course, looks amazing in his tight jeans and even tighter shirt, making the rest of them look inadequate as usual. He even manages to make his ridiculous Santa hat look cool where it’s jauntily sitting on his big dumb head.

“Here,” Nate says, appearing at his side with two beers and a sympathetic look on his best-friend-betraying face.

“I hate everything,” Tyson grumbles, taking the beer and swallowing half of it in one gulp.

Nate slings his arm around Tyson’s shoulders and guides him away from Gabe – okay, Tyson might have been staring – and towards the bar where Tyson can work his way through the cocktail menu like a boss.

It’s the only way to get through these stupid things.

He’s three cocktails down when Kerfy appears between him and Nate, looking a bit nervous with a wrapped envelope-shaped gift in hand.

“Uh, Merry Christmas?” Kerfy says and offers it to him.

“You shouldn’t have, rookie,” Tyson says as he rips the paper open in glee. He finds himself the proud owner of a gift card for The Cheesecake Factory, which is the most lame yet awesome present ever. “Kerfy! You beaut!”

Kerfy grins in relief and Tyson ruffles his hair because he’s an asshole who loves his lame team.

“Don’t spend it all at once,” Nate says dryly because he’s an asshole too.

“Well, I was gonna ask you to be my date but now I’ll have to find someone else to take me out,” Tyson says and downs the rest of his fruity cocktail. “Maybe Kerfy, eh?”

“I think someone might have a problem with that,” Kerfy says, glancing at Nate.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Tyson says easily. “He wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. He’s too scared of Crosby to ruin his diet during the season.”

“Oh fuck off,” Nate says good-naturedly. “And he wasn’t talking about me, genius.”

Tyson frowns at him but before he can ask what Nate’s talking about, he feels a hand come down on his shoulder and there’s only two teammates who touch him so easily and Nate is standing in front of him.

“Gabe,” Tyson says with a sigh, glaring at Nate before he turns to face their captain. His face is flushed the way it gets when he’s had a few beers and he’s leaning into Tyson a little too heavily. He’s drunk and happy, and Tyson wants to kiss him.

Tyson pretty much always wants to kiss Gabe. He’s learned to deal with it by chirping his captain constantly and letting Gabe think of him as an annoying nuisance, but every now and again his crush feels a little too big and a little too desperate to handle.

“Your present,” he says hastily and grabs it from the bar to shove into Gabe’s waiting hands. “Uh, Merry Christmas?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go,” Nate says from behind him and Tyson waves them off distractedly.

“You’re my Secret Santa,” Gabe says, glancing down at his gift before he looks back up at Tyson and shit, that’s Gabe’s dumb Christmas grin.

“Surprise!” Tyson says half-heartedly and his answering grin is weak at best.

Gabe huffs out a laugh and gingerly tears at the paper. When he pulls out the present, he stares at it for a few long, agonizing moments.

“You got me a Dala Horse,” Gabe says in a weird, flat tone that makes Tyson wince.

Fuck, Tyson thinks. “The sales guy said it was traditionally Swedish,” Tyson says, his cheeks hot as he makes a grab for the present – to do what he’s not sure but he really, really wants to get it out of Gabe’s hands right now.

“I love it,” Gabe says, using those quick hands to dodge Tyson’s flailing, clumsy ones. “What are you doing? You can’t have my present back, that’s not how it works, Tys.”

“You uh, don’t hate it?” Tyson asks. He’s a bit drunk and he’s very confused.

“No,” Gabe says, grinning down at the dumb horse like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “I don’t hate it at all.”

“Okay then,” Tyson says uncomfortably. “Well, uh, I’m gonna go. Somewhere.”

He gets out of there as quickly as he can, away from Gabe’s stupidly soft smile. He sits through the team meal, grits his teeth through Gabe’s Christmas speech while wondering if this is how Gabe feels when they all make him sit through two Thanksgivings every year, and hangs about for as long as possible before he needs to get out of there for his own sanity. Gabe’s hat is sitting precariously on his big head, his shirt is now unbuttoned to dangerous torso territory and his eyes are doing that crinkly thing that makes Tyson’s chest feel tight.

“Right, I’m going home,” Tyson announces to Nate, who’s half slumped against him, and Josty, who’s trying to tell Nate – something? Tyson doesn’t know what, he’s not listening and neither, by the looks of it, is Nate. “Drink water when you get home. Lots and lots of water.”

“Don’t go,” Nate slurs, making grabby hands at him that Tyson easily avoids since he stopped drinking hours ago. “Stay.”

“Water,” Tyson repeats slowly and loudly. “Lots and lots of water.”

He slips away, raising a hand to wave at a couple of people who notice him leaving, and gets in the car he called for ten minutes ago.

The first thing he does when he gets home is strip out of his clothes and pulls on a pair of loose sweats and an old, faded t-shirt. Then he takes his own advice and downs two glasses of water while he flicks through Netflix, trying to decide if he wants to stay up and wallow or go to bed and jerk off.

It’s possible that he’s too depressed to jerk off, which just makes him more depressed.

He’s just pressed play on Die Hard because it’s a Christmas movie no matter what Vic says when the doorbell goes.

He opens the door with a frown with glass of water in hand because Nate was a mess at the bar, only it’s not Nate.

“Hey,” Gabe says brightly, standing in the doorway like this is a totally normal thing to happen.

Gabe doesn’t drop by Tyson’s house. Like, ever. They hang out at Nate’s place, or they used to at Dutchy’s, which is too depressing to think about when he’s already sad as fuck. And Gabe definitely never leaves the team Christmas party early.

“Uh, hi?” Tyson offers.

“I’m coming in,” Gabe announces, one hand on Tyson’s shoulder as he walks past him into the house.

Tyson closes the door behind him and follows Gabe into the kitchen of all places. He watches Gabe pour himself a glass of water and tries not to stare as Gabe wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s finished.

“So,” Gabe says cheerfully, leaning back against the counter and casually crossing his legs, “you got me a Dalecarlian.”

“A what?” Tyson says blankly. He’s definitely not staring at Gabe’s biceps stretching his shirt. It’s fucking obscene though.

“The horse,” Gabe clarifies with a small smile. “It’s a Swedish tradition.”

“Yeah?” Tyson’s confused. He knows it’s a Swedish tradition, that’s why he bought the fucking thing.

“You -“ Gabe breaks off and shakes his head. “You could have gotten me anything. But you got me something from home.”

“Oh, well like, you don’t get to go home or whatever,” Tyson shrugs, avoiding Gabe’s gaze and determinedly staring at the floor.

That’s probably why he doesn’t realise that Gabe’s moving towards him until Gabe’s in his space. Too close, holy fuck.

“It’s the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Gabe says. He’s crowding Tyson back against the counter. Tyson can’t fucking breathe. “Loud and bright and I laugh every time I look at it.”

Gabe takes the horse out of his pocket and Tyson watches him rub his thumb over the bright red toy.

It’s possibly the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life.

Gabe laughs softly and puts the horse down behind Tyson, leaning in close. “I love it,” he breathes and then they’re kissing.

Tyson has no idea why Gabe’s kissing him but he’s hardly going to object, scrambling to get his hands on Gabe’s arms and drag him closer. He’s breathless and his heart is pounding and wow, that’s Gabe’s dick. In his pants. Hard and pressing against Tyson’s belly.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks, panting between kisses. He’s already reconciled with himself that he’s going to do something embarrassing in the next ten minutes. He just isn’t sure what form that embarrassment is going to take yet.

“A few,” Gabe says, his voice rough as he skims his hands up and down Tyson’s back before his hands dip lower to cup his ass.

Tyson absolutely lets out an embarrassingly needy moan.

“Are you drunk?” Tyson really needs clarification here.

“God, shut up, I’m practically sober and you never stop talking,” Gabe says pretty insensibly before he grabs the hem of Tyson’s shirt and starts pulling it up over his head.

“Good to know, dude,” Tyson gasps before he drags Gabe’s head down for another kiss because fuck, they should always be kissing.

*

Tyson wakes up hangover-free and with a giant, naked Swede draped all over him.

“Possessive much?” Tyson mutters to himself in not-so-secret delight.

“Shut up,” Gabe mumbles because he’s a beautiful asshole and Tyson’s kind of in stupid love with him.

Tyson stares up at the ceiling and grins happily. “I’m your fucking Dala Horse.”

Gabe groans and rolls off him, ignoring Tyson’s protests. “I need a shower,” he says, climbing out of bed and scowling at the flaking evidence of last night on his belly.

Tyson grins smugly and folds his arms behind his head.

Gabe disappears into the en-suite before his head pops back out. “Are you joining me or?”

Tyson scrambles out of bed so fast he almost breaks his ankle.

Totally worth it.


End file.
